Illusions
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: Draco does not like what his godfather has in mind. However, maybe tutoring could bring Draco and Neville together... If Lucius allows it. SLASH DMNL SSRL Discontinued.
1. Birthdays Stink

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, well, except for Stinky...

A/N: I tried to think of the most unprobable pairing ever. Well, this is what came out. Originally, I and my friend created a heap of insane ideas with the thought of creating an insane fic, but while writing the first chapter, I noticed that I couldn't keep that going for long. So, I'm going to put the characters in as absurd situations as possible and then see how IC I can keep them...

* * *

Illusions

Birthdays Stink

* * *

"You can't be serious." Draco stared at his Potions professor in disbelief. He did not believe what he'd just heard.

"Oh, but I indeed am," replied Severus, raising his eyebrow. "Why would you think that I am joking? I think I presented you a rather clear order."

"But -- but it's _Longbottom_ we're talking about here!" exclaimed Draco in desperation. His Godfather couldn't seriously be going to do this, could he? "The most incompetent of Gryffindors! He's worse than any _Hufflepuff_ you might find!"

"Exactly," Severus replied smoothly. "Neville Longbottom is indeed the most dreadful student I've ever had the displeasure of teaching. However, he has somehow managed to pass his OWLs -- by what miracle, I have no idea -- and I am determined not to let him fail this course. However, as I don't have time to waste to giving him the tutoring he obviously needs to pass the course, it's up to you to tutor him properly."

"But why me?" whined the younger Slytherin. "Why not -- why not Granger? I'm sure she'd be delighted to help."

"I'm sure she would," said Severus dryly. "However, she's not going to tutor Longbottom -- you are. And that's because of two reasons. One, you are the best student in any of my Potions classes, even better than Granger. Well, maybe there would be one or two even better than you on the seventh year, but they have enough problems with NEWTs coming. Two, you broke a record yesterday."

"What record?" asked Draco without really wanting to know, only because it was expected of him. It could be nothing good, that much he knew already.

"Three hundred," said his Head of House, then elaborated, "exactly three hundred fights with Potter. I'm ashamed of you, Draco, and tired of dealing with you -- even more tired than I am of dealing with Longbottom's incompetence. Therefore, you are going to tutor him, and I get two birds with one stone."

"Fabulous," muttered Draco. Things were truly not looking up today. His birthday present from his parents -- he'd asked for a new racing broom -- hadn't arrived yet, and they'd got loads of homework, all of which he'd have to do late at night, if Severus really was going to make him waste his evening tutoring the most incompetent Gryffindor ever. Really, what kind of a person would purposefully spoil his Godson's birthday that way?

...Well, Severus's kind, probably.

"Off you go," said Severus with a self-satisfied smirk. "I do believe Mr. Longbottom is already waiting for you in the Potions classroom."

"Fine," sighed Draco in quiet resignation. He knew it would not be of use to try to argue with his Godfather.

"Oh, and before I forget," Severus said calmly just as Draco had slowly made his way to the door of the office. "Happy birthday. You can open it on your way to the classroom." The older Slytherin tossed him a small package, and Draco caught it with the skill of a Seeker.

Before he even realized it, Draco was walking along the corridor towards the Potions classroom, the package in his hands. There was a foul scent in the air, and he was quite sure it came from his "present". Slightly fearing what he might find inside -- knowing Severus's sense of humour, it could be anything from a half-rotten rat corpse to a pile of a dragon's shit -- Draco carefully tore the Slytherin green wrapping away. Then he opened the box he found inside, all the time ready to flee from whatever he would see.

To his great surprise, the source of the smell was a little snake. It was in fact cute, shining in all his silvery glory in the bottom of the tiny wooden box. There was also a slip of parchment, one which Draco picked up.

"_Draco,_" it read, "_happy sixteenth birthday. This little thing is a stinksnake. They are very affectionate about their masters, and extremely protective -- not to mention their poison has some interesting effects. As they later grow wings, they make great protectors. However, the smell cannot be got rid of, and it lasts for all of their first year. Please also note that most people cannot even see him, so unless you want to be taken to the closed ward of St. Mungo's, don't have too much interaction with your new pet in public. He eats salad and milk, and no, I do not know how they can produce such a smell with that diet. --Severus_"

"So you are a stinksnake, eh?" asked he with a mild interest. The snake didn't reply, just watched him with wide, baby-blue eyes. "I think I'm going to call you Stinky, as the name will surely suit you." Again, the snake stayed unresponsive.

Sighing, Draco poked the snake with his finger, oblivious to the warnings about it being poisonous -- Severus wouldn't give him anything deadly, as Lucius would kill him after that. And, after all, he was the snake's new master, wasn't he? And truly, the snake didn't bite him. Instead, Stinky suddenly raised himself from the bottom of the tiny box and wrapped his tiny body around Draco's wrist. Sighing again, knowing that there was no getting rid of the snake, Draco stuffed both the box and the wrappers deep into his pocket, then started to walk the rest of the way to his soon-coming doom.

As he pushed the door to the Potions classroom open, the boy who already was there yelped in fright and jumped about two feet to the air. "Calm down, Longbottom," Draco snapped dryly. Really, how pathetic a person get, even a Gryffindor? "However much I'd like to kill you and feed you to the school owls in tiny pieces just to see the expressions on the Gryffindors' faces when an owl shits a finger bone on their table, unfortunately, I cannot do that without getting Professor Snape at my neck. So, I think we have some tutoring to do."

Longbottom nodded mutely, his eyes wide with fear. Then the boy actually managed to stutter, "Pr-Professor Snape left s-some instructions on his desk." A shaking finger pointed at the teacher's desk.

With a longsuffering sigh, Draco walked to the desk, and took the piece of parchment lying there. He quickly read the instructions -- which only contained the name of the potion they had to make, and a little afternote about not killing the Gryffindor -- then turned towards Longbottom. The plump brunet startled and took a step backwards. "At first, you need to get these ingredients from the student cupboard," he said with a forcedly calm tone, pointing at the Potions book that was open on the desk. Handing the book then to the other boy, he said slowly, like speaking to a very simple kid, "I am going to put the cauldron ready. Can I trust you not to mistake Venderroot to Vendairoot?"

Longbottom nodded, and a little hint of surety flickered in his blue eyes. Oh, yes. For all Draco knew, the boy's only decent grade was in Herbology. The boy really knew herbs and plants of all kinds -- and that was all good there was to be said about him.

Suddenly Longbottom's voice startled him. "M-Malfoy?" asked the other boy carefully. "Why exactly do you have a _snake_ around your wrist?"

After getting over his first surprise about the fact that the boy had actually _spoken_ -- what a miracle, truly! -- Draco glanced down at Stinky, who watched him back with his baby-blue eyes. "Oh, he's my pet," he said, trying to manage a careless tone. "I got him from Professor Snape -- he's my Godfather."

"Why'd he give you such a thing?" inquired Longbottom. He still looked very wary and a bit scared, but obviously the fact the Draco hadn't hexed him -- at least not yet -- had allowed him to actually speak.

"Because it's my birthday today," snapped Draco irritably. "So, _please_ get to work. I want this done as soon as possible, so tutoring you won't ruin my _whole _birthday."

"Oh." Longbottom was quiet for a long time. Then he said very quietly, "I -- I am sorry. For spoiling your birthday, that is."

"No need to be," said Draco. "The only one I blame for this is my _dear_ Godfather. Now, get to the work before I have to speed you up!" he then snapped as the Gryffindor seemed to be frozen on his place.

Longbottom did so, still in a slight daze. Draco sighed again as he started to gather the needed tools around the one cauldron that was in the classroom. '_One day_,' he vowed quietly to himself, '_one day, Severus will pay for this_.'

* * *

Next chapter:

Text.

And that's all I'm telling you now.


	2. Tutoring Stinks

Disclaimer: I only own Stinky.

A/N: Finally got this one updated!

Draco is making Neville nervous... Hehehehe...

* * *

Illusions

Tutoring Stinks

* * *

"Now, get those ingredients here," Draco grumbled. As Longbottom hesitated, he snapped, "What? I'm not going to bite you! Just get those blasted ingredients!" 

The plump boy hurried nearer, having enough sense not to drop the ingredients he had in his hands. Placing them on the table in front of Draco, he then looked at the Slytherin, expecting further orders.

"Look at the instructions," sighed the blond, rolling his eyes frustratedly. "I should think you are capable of reading. Are you?" he then asked sharply.

"Am - am I what?" Longbottom asked, taking a frightened step backwards.

"Are you capable of reading?" repeated Draco with a longsuffering voice. "Honestly, just _how_ thick can even a Gryffindor be? And here I was thinking that Crabbe and Goyle were stupid!"

"I can read," the boy replied, although he did sound unsure. What a moron.

"So you aren't as thick as Goyle, at least," said Draco dryly. "Now, tell me whether we have all the ingredients required for this potion."

Longbottom took a quick look at the list, then at all the things in front of them on the table. "Yes," he said, "we have everything here."

"Excellent." Sighing a bit again, Draco continued, "Now, read the instructions through. Through, do you hear, not just the first step!"

Longbottom nodded a bit fearfully, then started to look at the instructions. While he did this, Draco -- who'd already memorized them, like was his habit -- tried to spend his time by observing the Gryffindor. He'd got a bit taller the previous summer, Draco noticed -- he'd got past the blond in height, and nothing could have irritated him more. Why, oh, why did he have to always be the shortest? The only consolation he had was that Potter was even shorter. Anyway, the fact that Longbottom had grown taller had made him look less fat. His face didn't look as round as before, either, which made him look a bit more his age. The dark hair didn't make any impression, good or bad, but the deep blue eyes could maybe be called attractive, under certain circumstances. All in all, Longbottom was not that bad-looking. Sure, he wasn't one that anybody would call handsome, but he wasn't ugly, either.

Oh, Draco had known for a long time now that he preferred boys. Girls had never interested him in that way, yet he'd always been attracted to boys. He wanted rather badly a good-looking boyfriend, yet he knew that his fate in life would be to marry a nice, Pureblood girl, and have an heir to continue the Malfoy line. Only after that he could take a male lover on the side, like his Father had done. Perhaps homosexuality was inheritable.

Yeah, he did know of his Father's various affairs. At times he had mused about the possibility of telling his past lovers that he'd been cheating on them -- at best he'd had, what, three different lovers, all kept a secret from the other two? At very best, he'd even slept with them all during the same night. Now that was something only a Malfoy could manage. Well, Lucius anyway. Even though his Father had confidentially told him that when he'd been younger he could easily slip between many lovers thanks to the bit of Veela blood running in their veins, Draco didn't think he could manage that. Sure, he was a sixteen-year-old boy, but even he had his limits -- unlike his Father, obviously.

"Err... Malfoy?" a shy voice piped up. "I've read the instructions through now."

Draco nodded, sighing. "And have you understood them?" he asked irritably.

The Gryffindor looked frightened and took a fearful step backwards despite the fact that he was almost a head's worth longer than the Slytherin. "I -- I think so," he stuttered.

"Excellent." Draco smirked a bit. Now, this part he would like. "Tell me, what are the three things you must absolutely not forget while brewing this potion?"

"Ummm..." Longbottom hesitated a bit, then seemingly decided to give it a try. "You must not let it boil?" he suggested.

Draco nodded, quite impressed by this display of a normally functioning human memory from this particular young wizard. "That's one of them, yes," he said, only the tiniest bit annoyed by the fact that the boy had actually remembered one. "And why not?"

"Because otherwise it will create poisonous vapours that will harm the brewer badly," the other boy replied. "It's quite logical, really -- Malica berries should never be heated."

Now Draco wasn't impressed -- he was amazed. "Why can't you ever use your obvious knowledge on Herbology in the Potions classes?" he snapped, trying to hide his amazement with an irritated tone.

Longbottom mumbled something inaudible. When Draco merely raised an eyebrow, showing that he had not heard, the Gryffindor sighed. "I'm afraid of Professor Snape," he confessed.

"And you should be, with your grades in Potions," mumbled the blond. Then he focused his gaze at Longbottom again. "Is it just that, then?" he asked. "If you weren't afraid of the professor, would you do well in Potions?"

The brunet shook his head. "I don't think so," he said quietly. "It's not all just about herbs and such, you know. There's so much I've missed on the lessons because I'm too scared of Professor Snape to even listen to him. I -- I've been trying to get over it -- but the more I try, the more nervous I get, and the more catastrophes I cause. And the more catastrophes, the more effort he puts into intimidating me."

This made Draco smirk inwardly. So in fact Severus had himself created this worst disaster that had ever entered his Potions classroom. And whenever he tried to scare Longbottom "back to order", he in fact only made it all worse.

This he didn't say aloud, however. Instead, he asked, "And the two other things you must remember? What might those be?"

"Well... Venderroot has to be added in before the bat wings, because otherwise it causes an explosion, right?" As Draco nodded in confirmation, Longbottom went on, "And when you're stirring the potion, you must knock the side of the cauldron with the ladle every fifth minute, because that... that..." After a moment of more or less patient waiting, Draco got the rest of the answer he was looking for. "Because that balances the magical levels of the potion," finished Longbottom with a huge grin of relief on his face.

"Exactly," Draco said. "Now, what ingredients should be prepared before we start brewing the potion, and how?"

"Well, Venderroot needs to be diced," the brunet replied immediately. "The boa's toe nails have to be sliced, and you need to -- to crush the beetles?" he tried hopefully.

Sighing, Draco shook his head. "Sadly, no," he said dryly. "The beetles need to be powdered, not merely crushed. Now, start dicing the Venderroot -- I think you have more possibilities for succeeding in that one, as it's a part of your specialty anyway." And with that, he grabbed the bowl with the beetles and started carefully powdering them.

For a moment they both worked in silence, only the quiet cuts of a knife and the crushing of the beetles breaking the silence. However, having practically grown up in the Slytherin dungeons, Draco missed for noise and babble all around. Down there, in his own familiar surroundings, there was never a day without at least one loud fight, explosion, or screaming fit to be heard. "What's your family like?" he asked in an attempt to continue their conversation.

However, it did rather the opposite of what he'd meant to do. Longbottom fell deadly silent for a long time. Then, after a long, pregnant silence, the brunet boy finally managed to stutter, "I -- I don't really have that much of a family. Just me, and my Grandma."

"Oh?" asked Draco warily, sensing that he'd come to a dangerous area. "What happened to your... parents?"

"They -- they are not there," replied Longbottom softly. "They're not dead, but -- they are not."

"What are they, then?" asked Draco, his curiosity suddenly overdriving his senses, which were all screaming '_SHUT UP YOU BLOODY PRICK_!" from top of their lungs.

Now Longbottom stilled completely. Then, finally, when Draco just thought he would not answer at all, he snapped, "Death Eaters tortured them when I was just a baby. Drove them _insane._ There. Happy now? Going to run to your friends to tell them that Longbottom's parents are in the closed ward?!"

Draco was a bit taken aback by this sudden outburst. He certainly had not been expecting this kind of a reply, or this kind of fury and fierceness behind the answer. Seemingly Longbottom hadn't been Sorted into Gryffindor for nothing.

The silence stretched, and Draco suddenly realized that the other boy obviously expected him to say something. So, he managed to say, "I -- I didn't mean it that way. And I'm not going to tell anyone." Then, after a _long_ moment, he finally said the phrase he'd never thought he'd be saying to _anyone_, least of all to Neville Longbottom. "I'm sorry."

And he was. He was, for he knew what it felt like to lose a parent. True, his both parents were alive and sane, but he hadn't really had any true interaction with his mother ever since he'd been about three. He was getting along with his Father pretty well, very well to be honest, but to Narcissa, he might just as well been a stranger's child, not her own son. Usually Draco didn't pay much thought to that, but now, however, it felt almost... hurtful. And Draco did not like being hurt, in any way.

* * *

Next chapter: Neville's true feelings about the tutoring. 


	3. Stupid Crushes Stink

Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: I'm updating this one yet again... At last. Yes, you can say that. But hey, with the amount of WIPs I have going, if I post an update every second day, you'll still have to wait two months for one story to be updated, unless I update some fics more frequently than the others ! (Which is precisely what I'm doing.) So, stop complaining and read on...

* * *

Illusions 

Stupid Crushes Stink

* * *

"I'm sorry, but I have to go" apologized Neville as he rose from his seat. "Tutoring, you know." 

"Poor you" Ron said with genuine compassion. "It must be horrible to have to spend all your spare time with Malfoy. I simply can't understand how you can stand it."

"Well, I don't really have options" replied Neville with a nervous laugh. "I need that tutoring if I want to pass Potions. I've actually learnt something. Malfoy's good at teaching."

"I'm surprised he's good at anything but licking Snape's boots" Seamus said with a grin. "Very well, Neville. Now go to your torture chambers, o tutorable one."

"I don't think that 'tutorable' is even a word" Harry pointed out. "But do hurry, Neville. The starting time of your lesson is getting closer, and I don't think you want to be late."

And hurry Neville did. While he hurried towards the dungeons, he thought about his tutoring. If he had told the truth to his friends, they would have most probably been shocked - if they had even believed him in the first place, that was. Since the truth was, he actually enjoyed the tutoring.

He'd come to notice that when there was nobody else around, Malfoy was a pretty decent guy. At first he'd been just the same nasty Slytherin he always was, but with Neville, he'd lately started to relax. Sure, he could still be as intimidating as Snape when he wanted to be that, but most of the time he was just okay. And he really was a good teacher, too - about that, Neville hadn't lied. Professor Snape maybe was that, but in the Potions class, Neville was simply too scared to learn anything useful.

So, one reason to his tendency to actually enjoy the extra time with Potions and Malfoy - the second and third of his former worst nightmares, the absolutely worst being Professor Snape - was the fact that Malfoy was not that bad company. Another reason was something that he could even less tell to his friends, since appreciating Malfoy's company was nothing compared with that utter horror.

Neville felt, quite frankly, attracted to Draco Malfoy, the pride of Slytherin. This attraction was so strong that it might even be called a crush. And that made Neville more horrified than anything else.

Sure, he liked boys. There was nothing wrong with that, as the attitudes in the Wizarding World were far more tolerant than those in the Muggle World, and homosexuals had been out of the closet for centuries without fear. That was not the point. Just as surely Malfoy was good-looking, everybody knew that. Even Ron sometimes talked about "the pretty bastard" when he meant Malfoy. Admitting that was not a problem, it was a simple fact one just couldn't deny.

However, those things mattered nothing in the end. A Gryffindor might be attracted to boys, and Malfoy might be attractive. There was nothing wrong with those facts. However, _no_ Gryffindor was ever attracted to Malfoy. That was just wrong. It was against the very laws of the nature.

But Neville just couldn't help himself. Malfoy, who was extremely good-looking even when he was cool and collected, was even more that when he was eagerly explaining something, his silver eyes blazing with excitement. It was obvious that Malfoy loved the subject just as much as Snape did, just like Neville himself loved Herbology, the only subject he was good at. That excitement made the blond abandon the cool mask he always wore. As soon as the tutoring sessions ended, the mask was put firmly back on place. And, of course, that mysterious role fascinated Neville even more.

Oh, Neville knew all about masks. He wasn't good in many subjects; in fact, he was horrible at anything else than Herbology. However, he certainly wasn't as empty-headed and forgetful as he seemed to be at times. If he had been that absentminded, he would have never passed any exams. Practical work was his true downfall; there was nothing wrong with his mind. Sure, he had to work hard, but so had everybody else, well, except for Hermione. Now there was a witch who worked definitely more than she had to.

However, as far as Neville could remember, he had lived with his Gran. And, as far as he could remember, his gran had treated him like a little child. Of course he had been a little child in the beginning, but Gran didn't seem to notice that he had grown up. After a life time of being asked whether he was sure he had put his shoe on the right foot, it was not a wonder if he didn't behave like he was expected to actually remember something. Partly it was a habit of trying to behave like his Gran expected him to do, partly it was also subconscious fear. Neville was constantly reminded of the danger of knowing too much whenever he visited his parents. Voldemort had driven his parents mad because they'd been too much a threat to him. Neville was determined to avoid his parents' fate and never be too much a threat to anyone, and the best way to achieve that was to be absolutely incompetent.

So, when he finally reached the Potions classroom, it wasn't fear that made his heart pound in his chest and blood rush in his ears. No, it was something entirely else. Something unthinkable.

"Well, so you did choose to arrive at last" said a lazy voice. Once again Neville had trouble with breathing. Malfoy was leaning against Snape's desk, wearing what Neville had now determined to be his laboratory robe, as he never wore them other than during their tutoring sessions, and always then. Short sleeves that showed well his muscular arms, a tight top that hugged the firm, Quidditch-toned chest and abdomen, and a wide hem that didn't slow him down but did nothing to hide his slim legs as the thin material clung to his skin - that robe maybe helped Malfoy's work, but it did the absolute opposite to Neville. More than once he'd almost spoilt a potion because he'd lost himself staring at Malfoy's bottom when the blond leant over the table to reach for an ingredient or to check something from a text book.

"Yeah" Neville mumbled in response. "I got caught talking with the guys, and had to hurry."

"Well, start hurrying earlier next time." The Slytherin pushed himself away from the desk. "Very well. My dearest Godfather promised that we could use this tutoring lesson to work on our Potions project. As you clearly don't have your notes with you, we will simply use mine. Now, come on. Let's get to work."

Oh, yes. Professor Snape had forced them to work together in Potions, too. Miraculous as it was, Malfoy's grades hadn't got worse - at least not much. That was because Professor Snape, trusting Malfoy to keep Neville from doing any really bad mistakes, no more hovered all around Neville. Thus, he wasn't as nervous and scared all the time as he'd used to, and Malfoy's exceptional skills managed to make their potions really good as long as Neville didn't spoil them. All in all, it was a good arrangement - except that in the classroom, Malfoy was every bit the bastard he usually appeared to be.

Anyway, Neville walked to their desk, where he found a stack of notes, all written in Malfoy's thin, spidery handwriting that actually resembled much that of Professor Snape. Briefly wondering, like he did every time he saw Malfoy's notes, if all Potions-obsessed people had similar handwriting, Neville studied the next step of the project they had to do in Extended Potions. It wasn't too hard, but needed a lot of concentration. He just had to hope that Malfoy wouldn't do too much leaning over the desk this time.

Anyway, working like they usually did, Neville went to fetch the ingredients they would need, while Malfoy collected all required equipment as well as found from somewhere their first-state potion. It now had to be developed further, something that they had to do completely undistracted.

As they indeed needed to concentrate, for some time they worked in absolute silence, silently agreeing on which one of them would do which preparation task. After a moment, however, Malfoy started a conversation, like he usually did. Neville suspected he didn't like silence too much.

"If you could have anything in life, what would you want" Malfoy asked, never taking his eyes away from the newt's eyes he was neatly dicing. "Don't think about how. Just, anything. What would it be"

For a moment, Neville thought hard about the question. When the answer came to him, however, it seemed obvious, and he wondered how he hadn't realized it immediately. "I'd like to have my parents back" he said quietly. Both of them knew what he meant by that, so Malfoy didn't ask. "What about you"

After another moment of silence, the Slytherin replied"I would like to be normal. Well, so I am rather normal, but it gets sometimes irritating to be a Malfoy. Everybody immediately expects me to behave in a certain way and do certain things just because of my name. I'm a Malfoy, I'm into Dark Arts, I'm a Malfoy, I'm the leader of Slytherin House, I'm a Malfoy, I am straight..."

"What" Neville glanced up from his work, then immediately looked back down again to make sure he wouldn't do anything wrong. "Are you straight, then"

"No" confessed Malfoy calmly. "Sure, I am the leader of Slytherin, ask anybody. And I don't see anything bad in the Dark Arts - they're not evil by themselves, they're just tools, just like any magic. But no, I am not straight. I'm most definitely homosexual." With a slight sigh, he added"But it's not like I could choose, anyway. Father wants me to marry a nice, Pureblood girl he can approve and have an heir to carry on the Malfoy line. Then I can have as many male lovers as I please for anything he cares - he's a gay himself."

"Oh." For a moment, Neville was really disappointed. He'd really hoped for something for a second, but if Lucius Malfoy was against his son having a boyfriend, then he didn't have a snowball's chance in hell to get the said son. From their discussions he'd already noticed that Malfoy valued his father's opinion above anything else. Which, of course, brought a question into his mind. "Malfoy" he asked. As the boy replied with a quiet, noncommittal sound, he asked"Why are you telling all these things"

Now, he could hear the smirk in Malfoy's voice as the blond said"Well, who would ever believe you if you told that Malfoy is a whiny little gay in a desperate need of a boyfriend, but doesn't dare to disagree with his father" Then, with a not even half as teasing tone, he added"No, seriously speaking, it's just that need somebody to talk to. You're not half as stupid as you appear to be, and you're certainly more intelligent company than Crabbe and Goyle. And, unlike any Slytherin, I have a rather good confidence that _you_ won't tell anything to anybody. Even for a Gryffindor, you seem to be an extremely fair player."

"Well, I won't tell anybody" Neville replied quietly. Then he even dared to comment"You know, you're not half as bad as you seem to be. At least I don't think you are" he added shyly.

Now, Malfoy smirked. "Well, I should think so" he chuckled. "If I was as bad as I appear to be, I would appear to be even worse." Before Neville could further examine the logic behind his words, Malfoy added"Anyway, I do think these are ready. We should now start heating the cauldron."

Their conversation went on for still some time over the cauldron. However, neither of them anymore commented on either Malfoy's not-so-bad character or his heterosexuality. But even though Neville was a bit disappointed at this, he couldn't be entirely sad about the outcome of that tutoring session.

After all, not only did he now know that at least in theory he had some chances with Malfoy, he also knew that Malfoy actually trusted him. And that was a victory above anything else.

* * *

Next chapter: 

Exactly what are Remus and Severus up to?


	4. Nights Stink

Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: Yeah, Remus is the DADA teacher once again. I have ignored HBP this far (mainly because it hadn't been published yet when I wrote the other chapters) and I am going to continue to ignore it. It has nothing to do with this fic. Got it?

...Oh, and in case you were wondering, the chapters are named "this-or-that stinks" because that's about all Draco's feeling right now. Sooner or later, though, he'll find out that not everything is so miserable in his life.

* * *

Illusions 

Nights Stink

* * *

"Tell me again why I agreed to do this," Severus snorted. He leant back in his favourite armchair and sighed. "This is pure madness. Nothing good will ever come from this, I'm sure about that." 

"Aw, don't be so pessimistic," chuckled Remus from what they both nowadays thought of as his armchair. "This is exactly what they both need. I think it's going along just fine, too. They're becoming friends."

"At least I'm not in danger of death every time Longbottom enters my classroom," the Slytherin remarked. "Longbottom's performance has got better, I have to admit that. Whether that's because he's actually learning something or because Draco's doing all the difficult work, well, that I do not know yet."

"Give the boy some credit," his companion said cheerfully. "I'm sure he actually has some skills for Potions; with his knowledge in Herbology he _can't_ be such a disaster in Potions you claim he is. I bet he's just afraid of you. In my class he's always doing fine. Well, yes, he is rather clumsy, but with some work he always manages to learn whatever I'm trying to teach him in the end. The boy's not stupid, Severus, just afraid."

"Well, he certainly should be afraid," Severus replied dryly. "Despite what you obviously think, Lupin, I actually have better things to do than look after kids who can't tell a cauldron from a pot."

"He did pass his OWLs, didn't he?" asked Remus. "You never accept anybody with less than an O to the NEWT class, and yet he is there. He can't be a complete catastrophe, then."

"If it only was that simple," sighed the Potions Master. "I usually only accept 'O' students, true. However, this year there were so few of those that the Headmaster practically forced me to accept students with 'E's, too. Potter got an 'E' -- and so did Longbottom, if only just. So, I was forced to take them into the class."

"I'm sure Albus didn't do it only for Harry, if that's what you think," the werewolf mentioned. "True, he might favour some students over others, but he wouldn't go that far. If he made you accept students with lower grades than usually, that is only because students with your usual grades wouldn't make up a class big enough. So do not start your usual the Boy-Who-Lived-To-Be-A-Prat rant again."

"Don't worry, I most certainly wasn't going to," said Severus, rolling his eyes. "I get enough of that brat in the classroom." He tapped the arm of his chair with his long fingers. "One of these days I'm most certainly going to check just what those two are doing on their tutoring lessons," he muttered then. "Draco's been suspiciously less reluctant to participate in this whole thing recently."

"Well, I think it's sweet," Remus said, grinning. "You know, I've caught Neville watching him in the classroom. That wouldn't be so exciting, if I hadn't caught Draco glancing back a couple of times."

"If Lucius catches wind of that, I'm dead," Severus sighed, wiping his hair away from his face. "Best friend or not, if he finds out that I am encouraging his perfect offspring to have any positive feelings towards Neville bloody Longbottom he won't hesitate to relieve me of my miserable life."

"Miserable, eh?" Remus raised an eyebrow, grinning in the extremely Gryffindor-ish way that always made Severus very annoyed. "And here I was thinking that I made your life at least tolerable."

"Hardly." Severus smirked. "The only way my life could become tolerable is that Potter kills the Dark Lord and then leaves Hogwarts for the rest of his life, and you trade jobs with me."

"You wish," the werewolf chuckled. "Not that I'm not willing to give you your dream job, but you know just as well as I do that I'm a disaster in Potions. There'd soon be just a big hole in the ground instead of a castle. So, for the well-being and safety of us all, I sadly have to refuse that deal."

"I could always tutor you," the Potions Master offered, still smirking. "I'm sure we could find some terms we could both agree on to make your learning experience... ahem... satisfying."

"As tempting as that offer is, again I have to refuse," laughed Remus. "Unlike Neville, I do not have any hidden Potions skills for you to coax out. So no, I don't think that'd help much to keep us all alive."

"At least we could go at the same time," Severus said. Then, he snorted. "You know, Lupin," he said, "I really don't know why I put up with you. It certainly isn't for the exciting conversation."

"Well, I really don't know why _I_ put up with _you_, either," the Gryffindor replied cheerfully. "It clearly isn't for your friendliness or good looks. So, I think we're both in this for the same reasons. One being, it is no fun to make more or less evil schemes alone, despite what Voldemort thinks."

"And the other reason?" asked Severus. He watched attentively as the Gryffindor rose and walked nearer.

"Why, I thought that was obvious," said Remus, stopping in front of his once-enemy. Resting his hands on the arms of Severus's chair, he leant forward until his lips alomst touched the Slytherin's ear before murmuring, "We're doing this for the sex." Then, he planted a kiss on the other man's lips.

Severus, however, was not satisfied with simply that. He grasped on the werewolf's arms and pulled him down into his lap. Then he crushed his lips against those of the Gryffindor in a kiss that was happily returned. Starting to slowly open Remus's robes, he enjoyed the feel of gentle hands combing his hair.

Sooner rather than later, they decided to take their little activities into a more comfortable place.

* * *

Remus sighed, resting his head on the lean chest, enjoying the long, slender fingers going through his hair. "You know," he said softly, "this is almost the part I like best of all this." 

"Really?" Severus raised an eyebrow. Remus didn't of course see it, seeing that his head was turned away from the Slytherin's face, but he still knew the raised eyebrow was there. "Should I be insulted?"

"I said, 'almost.'" Leaning back, Remus tucked his head under the Slytherin's chin. "I have to leave soon," he murmured. "We don't need any funny rumours, so it'll do no good if somebody sees me leave your quarters in the morning. It's well past curfew; there shouldn't be _too_ many students around now."

"Forget it." Now, a pair of arms was fastened around Remus's waist. "I've just gotten warm and comfortable. I'll be damned if I let you leave now. You can wait until morning."

"But the students --" the werwolf started to protest, only to be silenced by a finger over his lips.

"I'll give you some Invisiblity Potion. Now, shut up and be warm." Then, one of the arms was removed from his waist as a hand reached down to draw the sheets over them both.

And, of course, leaving was now the one thing farthest from Remus's mind.

* * *

Unlike his godfather, Draco was having trouble with sleeping. This wasn't, however, due to the lack of a warm body in his bed (not that he would have _minded_, of course, he was a sixteen-year-old boy after all) but because he was deep in thought. Deep in some very disturbing thoughts, to be exact. 

That day he had found the tutoring more difficult than usually. Not because the subject was harder, no; the potion they were working on was simpler than some they had already accomplished, and Nevill -- err, _Longbottom_ had truly gotten better. But, well, that was the problem. If he got good enough to make it through the course on his own, the tutoring would end. And, in all honesty, Draco didn't want that.

Sure, he shouldn't think that. After all, Longbottom was a Gryffindor. He'd been Draco's main bullying target right after Potter and his stupid friends. But he had to admit that the tutoring sessions were... fun. There was simply no other way of saying it. Fun, and relaxing.

Longbottom -- oh, for Merlin's sake, Neville. Yeah, Neville. They were in first-name basis already -- of course only during the tutoring. Outside that private time they were still enemies. Anyway, Neville listened to Draco. He never made nasty comments, never questioned his opinions, never said that he should think or say or do _this _or _that_ because he was a Malfoy or a Slytherin. And Neville would never tell his secrets to anybody, either; he was far too trustworthy and Gryffindor to do that. In his company Draco could forget his facade and be himself for a while. It was very relaxing.

However, it was certainly _not_ relaxing to catch himself watching how a lonely strand the Gryffindor's hair fell onto his eyes no matter how many times he tried to brush it away. That Draco had noticed.

It wasn't that he was attracted to Neville, no; that'd be impossible, he did have that much of his Slytherin and Malfoy pride left. He just felt... comfortable with the other boy. It wasn't like he could look at any of the really _good-looking_ boys in public or somebody would notice. So, he had to watch Neville. Even if the boy'd noticed something, he at least knew already that Draco liked boys. He wouldn't tell anybody.

Oh, bugger. Who did he think he was kidding anyway? So, he _was_ attracted to the other boy. Something in his helplessness was simply enticing, and even more so were his rare moments of enlightments. Luckily those moments were becoming more and more frequent now that he was catching up with the andknowledge he was supposed to already possess. Oh, and of course there was the thousand times damned Gryffindor nature. In Potter and others it was simply irritating, as there didn't seem to be any true personality in any of them -- they were all just that, Gryffindors. But in Neville, the Gryffindor-ism was just a part of his own personality, a part that rarely showed up and thus wasn't too annoying to stand.

It could never lead to anything, of course. So, Neville wasn't anymore outright afraid of him, but still. For one, he probably didn't even like boys, and even if he did, he could never fall for a Slytherin. And besides, Lucius would kill them both if he found out. Yes, Draco did get well along with his father, but the said father had also told him dozens of times that he would have to marry a Pureblood girl and have an heir before he even tried to get a male lover. And if he did, that would be a secret. Nobody could ever know that the Malfoys weren't strictly heterosexual; it just didn't happen.

Oh, joy. Once again he was trapped in the things that were expected of him as the only heir of Malfoy. It was nice to have rich and powerful parents, yes -- otherwise his Father would still be in Azkaban -- but it was also hard to have the Name burden him. That was the part he hated. A lot.

It would have been better to stop thinking about it and just try to sleep. However, he couldn't do that, for his fear of actually succeeding. Draco was afraid of the potential nigthmares.

He'd fallen asleep once already. In the dream Neville had turned into a girl, they had got married, and Draco'd soon found himself with a couple of blonde mini-Luciuses clutching on his legs and calling him "Daddy". Voldemort had visited them for Sunday dinner and told Draco what a good evil minion he was.

That was exactly the life Lucius had planned for him. And that was exactly the life Draco didn't want.

...But how on Earth could he ever avoid that?

* * *

Next chapter: 

Draco feeds Stinky. Neville watches. Sweetness ensues.


	5. Snakes Stink

Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: I seem to be updating a lot right now. Don't get too used to it, though. I'll try to keep updating, but I can't promise anything.

This isn't exactly what I promised in the end of the last chapter, but I hope you like it anyway.

* * *

Illusions

Snakes Stink

* * *

"And what do we do now, then?" asked Draco, an eyebrow raised, as he watched Neville dropping some powdered beetles into the potion. "You've read the instructions. You should know what to do next." 

"Now, we stir it twice clockwise and once anticlockwise," while speaking, the Gryffindor did exactly this, "and then we let it simmer untouched for exactly forty-seven minutes."

"That's right." Adjusting the magical timer on the table to show them the right time to continue their work, Draco then leant back in his chair. "Ah, well. I think it's well about the time to feed Stinky." He reached his hand into his bag, drawing out the tiny snake. Stinky wrapped itself affectionately around his wrist.

"He's cute," Neville commented in slight amusement. "It's a pity that he smells so bad."

"Exactly," Draco sighed. "That's why I don't like taking him to classes -- nobody dares to say anything, of course, but I _know_ that they think the smell's coming from _me_. I don't know what exactly I've done to Severus to make him hate me so," he grumbled. "But I can't really keep him in the dormitories all the time, either -- Merlin knows what he'd do there." Again reaching into his bag, he then brought out a bottle of milk and a small package containing some lettuce. Pouring the milk into a bowl and shredding the lettuce, mixing it with the liquid, he then placed the bowl on the table and Stinky in front of it. "Now, eat, you menace."

"Oh, stop grumbling," Neville said with a grin. "You know you don't hate Stinky, nor do you hate Severus."

"Care to bet?" snapped Draco. Then, however, he sighed. "Sadly, you're right," he admitted. "True, the snake is cute in a way -- although if you ever tell anybody that I said it, you're dead," he added, his casual tone never changing. "And it's nice to have someone who likes me unconditionally. And as for Severus, well... So, he's annoying, bossy, and at times downright cruel. He enjoys torturing his students and colleagues alike and seems to take great delight in spoiling what little fun anybody else might have in his presence. He's probably never taken into account anybody else's feelings if doing so would have forced him to change his mind. But despite all that, he is still my Godfather, and I... well, I non-hate him."

"I really don't think that's a word," Neville mentioned, a grin still on his face. "But then again, it isn't like you could ever admit that you actually like someone, is it? Your reputation would be ruined." Then he added, with a look of perfect innocence, "Not that I would start any rumours or anything..."

With an annoyed sigh, Draco rolled his eyes. "I really did prefer your frightened self," he muttered angrily. "Or... maybe not. Okay, though, you win. If it will stop you from commenting on it, I'll admit that somehow, deep down, I do like Severus... to some extent."

"Couldn't you really fit 'a little' or perhaps 'barely' somewhere in there?" asked the other boy, clearly amused. "Honestly, Draco. Is it really such a bad thing to admit that you like someone?"

"Yes, it is," the blond replied without hesitation. "Malfoys don't _like_ other people. They _tolerate_ them."

"Then why do you say 'they' instead of 'we'?" asked Neville in perfect innocence. "Or don't you count yourself a Malfoy? Why not? And if you're not a Malfoy, why can't you like someone?"

"Well, truth be told, I don't _want_ to be a Malfoy," grumbled Draco. "At least not the kind of Malfoy my father and about everybody else seems to see as the only possibility. I want to be my own kind of Malfoy."

"Somebody who likes boys, potions, and acting like he owns the world?" the Gryffindor asked. "Hm. I'm not entirely sure if the world is ready to face such a thing."

"It already has," remarked the blond. "Most of the world just isn't aware of that."

"Meaning, the whole world aside from me isn't aware of that," chuckled Neville. "It's like that, isn't it?"

"Well... pretty much," admitted Draco. "Although I do think that Severus has some suspicions about my orientation... and father probably knows that I share his interests, even though he doesn't want me to act on my feelings in any way. Not before I have a Pureblood heir to continue the line, at least."

"Well, you could always try to collect some evidence," Neville suggested. "If you had proofs that he has had male lovers, you could blackmail him. No matter how eager he is to protect the name of Malfoy, I'm sure he would rather have his own public image stay untarnished than yours."

Draco watched the Gryffindor for a moment. Then, he grinned. "Are you sure you are in the right House?" he asked with a hint of teasing in his voice. "Since, just in case you didn't know, blackmailing is definitely a Slytherin technique."

"Do I seem like a Gryffindor?" asked Neville. "Everybody in this school thinks that I'm in the wrong House. Well, at least those do who don't think I should be kicked out of the school altogether. You're probably the first one to think I would fit in Slytherin, though," he then added.

"Why ever would anybody think you don't belong into the school? Sure, you may not be the best student in the class, but you are a wizard nevertheless. And besides, I'm sure you could do better than you currently do. Your grades aren't that incredible, but they are better than your average class performance."

"Why, thank you," muttered Neville dryly. "It's nice to know you have such confidence in my skills." Then, he sighed. "With a childhood like mine, you learn not to draw any attention to yourself," he said. "Ever since I can remember all my relatives have been telling me what great heroes my parents were -- and in the next sentence they mention that it was their heroic characters that got them attacked."

Draco nodded slowly. No, that definitely didn't really encourage heroic behaviour. "How old were you when they were... attacked?" he asked carefully.

"I was one," replied Neville, looking at their potion as if to avoid looking at his companion. "And I saw the whole thing."

That definitely silenced Draco. Finally, after a long silence, he said simply, "Shit."

"To be honest, I don't remember any of it," Neville said. "I was Obliviated. Professor Flitwick once said it might be the reason I'm so absentminded." He frowned as he still looked down at their -- flawless, naturally -- potion. "Sometimes I wish I remembered. Surely the damage to my mind couldn't be any worse that what the Obliviate has done."

Again, Draco was quiet. Finally he said, "You are truly a Gryffindor, no matter what everybody says. If I was in your position, I could never wish to remember such a thing." On a moment of unusual courage, he set a hand on the other boy's arm in an awkward gesture of support. He wasn't used to this kind of thing. Nobody had ever expressed their feelings to him in physical ways such as gestures, expressions, or hugs, and thus he wasn't exactly sure how to act. His Father always made sure not to reveal any emotions in public, and he suspected his mother had no emotions, at least none concerning him.

Neville didn't flinch away, however, like he'd half expected the Gryffindor to do. Instead, he quietly accepted the gesture.

Draco didn't know what to say. Thus, he said nothing.

* * *

"Weasley actually asked her out?" asked Draco disbelievingly. "Unbelievable. I was sure it'd take him at least until our graduation to finally realize it." 

"In fact, I think it was Hermione who asked," Neville replied, grinning. "Apparently she got tired of waiting. Why are you so upset about it, anyway?" he then asked curiously. "I didn't know you were so interested in their love life."

"Well, what do you think?" Draco huffed. "I just lost a Galleon!"

Now, Neville blinked in surprise. "You mean you were betting on it?" he asked.

"You mean you weren't?" Draco asked. "Half the school has been betting on when they are going to get together. I'd marked the last week of school. Do you really mean you didn't know?"

"No, I didn't." Neville shook his head. "Maybe nobody dared to tell me in case I told them."

"Well, would you have told?" asked Draco, a hint of mischief entering his voice. As Neville shook his head, he grinned. "Thought so. There's at least that much Slytherin in you."

"You wish." Neville smiled, although he felt odd at the same time. He couldn't remember when he'd been this open even around his friends. Most of the time he was too shy to open his mouth. With Draco, however, he nowadays managed to forget his shyness. Of course, the first tutoring lessons had been a nightmare, but nowadays, they talked pretty freely.

"It's nice to see them finally together, though," Neville commented after a moment of thinking. "They obviously belong together. I hope I'll find somebody one day, too."

"What, so you're still looking for Miss Right?" the Slytherin asked with a smirk.

Neville swallowed. The time for the truth, it seemed. Gathering all his Gryffindor courage, he congratulated himself on not letting his voice waver as he said, "Actually, I'd prefer Mister Right."

About a thousand thoughts coursed through Draco's mind at that seemingly casual admission. So Neville did like boys after all! He did have some kind of a chance -- or, rather, he would have, had it not been for his father. As it was, however, he had about as much of a chance at getting together with Neville than if the Gryffindor had been a perfectly straight homophobe.

"Too bad I'm just Prince Charming, then," he said, forcing himself to smirk as he said this. Don't be serious, that was the thing. Never be serious when talking about affairs of the heart. That way, you won't get hurt.

He was so concentrated on his own thoughts that he didn't even notice the slight uneasiness behind Neville's chuckle.

* * *

Next chapter: 

Something goes wrong. Or, rather, right, depending on how you view it.


	6. Potions Stink

Disclaimer: I own very little.

A/N: Is this soon enough?

* * *

Illusions 

Potions Stink

* * *

Draco gazed down into the potion bubbling in their cauldron. The Potions lesson was now halfway through, and this far their potion was perfect. Of course, he had never expected it to be anything else. 

He glanced at Neville and allowed himself a small smirk. The Gryffindor wasn't perhaps as good as he was, but he was now definitely good enough to pass the course. In fact, he felt certain that Neville was even better than some of their classmates -- whenever Severus wasn't scaring him, that was. Of course the Gryffindor could never surpass Granger, for example -- much as he hated to admit it, the annoying know-it-all truly knew how to do her potions. However, Neville would be no more melt cauldrons, that much he knew. Especially as Draco was keeping him in line.

Sighing quietly, he sent a tiny glare towards his Godfather. Once Severus realized how far Neville had got, he would no doubt tell them to stop the tutoring, thinking that it was a great relief to Draco. In reality, he dreaded the day it would happen. Although he could never express his attraction, at least he could watch Neville. And besides, he could actually talk with Neville, about things he had never talked to anyone about. Nobody else knew how much he wanted to be rid of his name, how much his father was controlling his life, and how much wished he had the courage to simply tell his father to fuck off and do things his own way. Had he been a Gryffindor, he might have done that. However, he was a Slytherin, a survivor instead of a fighter. Not daring to defy his father, he would simply have to suffer -- and wait. One day, his father would be no more. And, considering the war that was going on, that day might come soon.

He was startled out of his thoughts as something landed into the cauldron, splashing the potion. What was that? There was nothing they were supposed to add to the potion at this stage!

"Watch out!" he heard somebody -- Neville, a small part of his mind managed to figure out -- shouting. However, by the time the words had registered, it was already too late. The potion in the cauldron sizzled and bubbled, then suddenly exploded all over.

Something hit him on the chest, forcing him down onto the floor. Somebody was lying on top of him, shielding him from the damage, he realized, stunned. Who would ever leave themselves vulnerable like that only to protect him?

The screams, shouts and other sounds of general chaos lessened a bit, and he figured the worst danger was already over. "Hey, get off me," he muttered, trying to free himself of the weight of another body atop his. "Didn't you hear? I can't move!"

There was no response. Then, however, the weight was lifted, and he staggered to his feet. Turning around, he discovered to his great horror that the one who had shielded him was Neville. This horrified him because Neville hadn't got up on his own. Instead, he was being held up by a couple of very shocked students. Hanging limply in the grasp of his classmates, Neville was quite clearly unconscious.

Draco got even more distressed as he realized that there was blood dripping to the floor from the immobile form. There weren't any wounds visible as far as he could see, but then Neville had taken the damage to his back. Their cauldron was now mere pieces -- well, what was left of it, anyway. The rest of it was all around the room, sunk into various parts of ceiling, walls, furniture, and students.

"Everybody wounded to the Hospital Wing right away!" barked Severus sternly. "Potter, Granger -- as you apparently think Longbottom is worth your attention, you'll take him to the Hospital Wing. Everybody who doesn't have to go to get themselves healed, clean the classroom. The lesson is over for today."

Draco carefully made to join the students heading towards the Hospital Wing. He'd got away with mostly a fright, but he wanted to know what had happened to Neville. However, he froze as he heard his Godfather saying, "Mister Malfoy, into my office. Right away."

Slightly unsure, he made his way to Severus' office. He was fairly certain he knew what the teacher wanted to discuss. However, he wasn't entirely sure he understood what had happened himself. How could he then explain it to somebody else?

Unfortunately, an explanation was exactly what Severus expected. "What exactly was that?" he asked. "I thought you were good enough a student to be able to prevent Longbottom from making any mistakes bad enough to cause this kind of an accident. What went wrong?"

"It wasn't Neville's fault," Draco sighed. At least that he was sure about. "I kept an eye on him all the time, and he didn't do anything wrong. All I know is that I saw something landing into the potion -- somebody must have thrown something there. Then I heard Neville's warning, and the next thing I know, I'm pressed against the floor and everybody is screaming. That's all I know. It wasn't Neville's fault, though, that I'm sure about."

"So it wasn't Neville's fault," Severus echoed calmly. "And since when have Mister Longbottom and you been in such good terms? I don't recall you ever calling him by his first name before."

Draco bit his tongue. In his distress he'd indeed let the name slip out. This wasn't good, this wasn't good at all. Thankfully, any good Slytherin could think fairly quickly on their feet if need be.

"It's easier," he replied, shrugging. "I've had to call out his name so many times during the tutoring sessions that I've moved to using his first name just to save some time. If I had to shout 'Mister Longbottom' or something like that every time I want to tell him off, I wouldn't have time for anything else."

"An excellent attempt at lying, I must say," Severus said calmly. "However, you're badly mistaken if you think you can fool me. So, you'd better tell the truth."

Draco sighed. "We've been calling each other by first names for ages now, okay?" he said. "I've just tried to keep it in secret because we both have a life outside the tutoring sessions."

The Potions Professor raised an eyebrow. "I see."

And, however much Draco nervously waited, he didn't say anything else.

* * *

The Gryffindors gathered around Neville's bed sighed in relief as they saw him opening his eyes. "Are you okay?" asked Harry worriedly. "Your back seemed really bad." 

"It feels like that, too," muttered Neville. He flushed a bit as he realized that not only was he the centre of attention, but his body was also bare from the waist up. Well, at least it was that if one could call bare something that was covered with bandages.

"You'd better not even try to move," Hermione said sternly. "Madam Pomfrey had to pick at least a dozen shards of the cauldron from your back. It needs time to heal."

Although he heard this piece of advice, Neville didn't reply. Instead, he turned to look at Seamus. "What exactly was that?" he asked sharply. "I saw you throwing something into the cauldron."

The other boy flushed in shame. "Look, I'm really sorry," he muttered. "I never expected it to cause such a big explosion. I, well -- I just thought that if there was an explosion in your cauldron, Snape might think that the tutoring isn't doing any good. Then you'd be free from Malfoy."

"Point one: Never, ever cause an accident on purpose," Neville said, his usual shyness forgotten as anger -- almost rage -- raised its head within him. "You can never foresee the exact results. Not only did you get me here, but also a lot of other students. What if somebody had been damaged permanently? Or even died? Good prank, Seamus, everybody's laughing. And you should have known that it'd cause an explosion big enough to shatter the cauldron, too. You would have known had you read the recipe properly. The concoction is extremely sensitive to any alien ingredients, especially when it's being heated!"

Everybody was looking at him, stunned. They were having a hard time believing that he could be talking so angrily. However, Neville simply went on.

"Point two: I don't want to be free from Malfoy. Sure, he's annoying, he's nasty, and he hates me." And he makes people lie, too. "However, if there is one thing he is good at, it's teaching. I've learnt a lot during those tutoring sessions. Just recently I thought that I might by now be able to brew a potion all by myself without melting or blowing up the cauldron! And what do you do? Decide to put my cauldron into pieces to stop me from learning more! If you get half of the class into the Hospital Wing as a side effect, well, that's only better, isn't it? At least then Professor Snape will never even consider that I might be capable of passing! Thanks a lot, Seamus! If Professor Snape decides to stop the tutoring lessons as a result of this, I'll make sure he knows who exactly caused this!"

Now, Seamus paled. It was all too easy to imagine how Professor Snape would treat him if he found out the truth. A whole year of detentions didn't seem very improbable in that scenario.

"Um... Why'd you jump over Malfoy like that, anyway?" Harry asked after a moment of silence. "You were far enough from the cauldron to get to safety yourself!"

"He wasn't, though," Neville said. "As close as he was, he may have actually died. However much of a bastard he is, he doesn't deserve to die. When I pulled him down, both of us were far enough to survive."

Again, there was a moment of silence. Then Hermione said, "You know, Neville, at times there are moments when I think you are more of a Gryffindor than the rest of us combined."

Neville didn't say anything at this. He just blushed.

* * *

Draco held his breath. Eavesdropping on a Gryffindor conversation had provided him with the information that Neville was still in the Hospital Wing. Thus he was now sneaking there, using his best notice-me-not charm and desperately hoping nobody would come in. 

It was quiet and dark in the room as he sneaked inside. Most of the beds were empty. The third one from the door, however, was occupied by a familiar form. Making sure not to make any noise, Draco crept nearer.

Neville was asleep on his stomach. The reason for this position was clear; his whole back was covered with bandages. Swallowing, Draco wondered what his back looked like beneath those bandages. Would there be scars?

Carefully he made his way to the other end of the bed. Kneeling down, he looked closely at Neville's sleeping face. The Gryffindor looked very peaceful as he slept.

Why had Neville done that? He could just as well have taken cover and let Draco handle the trouble himself. Instead, he had flung himself between the Slytherin and the danger. It was because of Draco that there now were bandages over his back. Without him nothing would have happened to Neville.

Draco felt awful. The thought of Neville getting hurt made him uncomfortable. The thought of Neville getting hurt because of him was nauseating. He wasn't worth that!

What if the explosion had killed Neville? It had been bad, Draco knew that much. How could he have lived on, knowing he had been the cause of Neville's death? That the other boy had sacrificed himself for him?

"Stupid, stupid Gryffindor," he whispered, angrily wiping away the tear that tried to creep over his cheek. "Idiotic, brave Gryffindor. You would never make it in Slytherin."

"Just a few days ago, you said otherwise," came the response. Neville opened his eyes and looked Draco in the eye.

Startled, Draco drew away, then carefully leant closer again. "You're an idiot, you know," he said quietly. "Why did you do that? You could have got killed! I'm not worth that!"

Neville blinked as though he didn't understand the question. "You might have got hurt," he said like it had been the most obvious thing in the world. "I couldn't let that happen, so the best way of action I could think of was knocking you down."

"Did you ever pay a single thought to what would happen to yourself?" Draco hissed. "Did you even consider the possibility that you might get hurt?"

"No, I didn't," Neville said, his expression and voice both perfectly honest. "I didn't have the time to think about such things. The only thought I had was that you were in danger."

For a moment, Draco simply watched the other's open face. Then he allowed his expression to soften into a small smile. "You are an idiot," he said, affection creeping into his voice. "But then again, you're a Gryffindor, so that's probably required."

"Well, it's not exactly necessary, but it helps a lot." Neville grinned, a cheerful, carefree grin that bore no mark of the fact that he'd had his back torn open that day. And, suddenly, Draco simply couldn't hold himself back any longer.

Neville's lips were soft and warm. They tasted of healing potions, chocolate, and surprise. They were just as perfect as Draco had always imagined they would be.

When the reality of what he was doing kicked in, he drew back, ashamed. "I'm -- I'm sorry," he muttered. "I shouldn't have -- I don't know what I was thinking." A blush making its way onto his face, he started to turn away. However, a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

He turned to face Neville again, expecting to see disgust on the other boy's face. To his surprise, however, the only emotions he could read in the other's gaze were surprise and... happiness? And, momentarily, a flicker of something that seemed like decision and felt somehow very Gryffindor.

He didn't have the time to analyse it any further, though. The hand on his shoulder moved to his neck, drawing him nearer. And suddenly, those warm and soft lips were pressed against his.

Draco had often hoped that one day Lady Luck might smile down on him. However, he had never expected it to happen when he was in the Hospital Wing in the middle of night, kneeling beside a Gryffindor's bed.

Not that he minded, of course.

* * *

Next chapter: 

Somebody has a secret.


End file.
